Presented by The Art Institute of Pittsburgh

Hi, I'm Rex, I'm a dinosaur and this is my blog.


Gobble gobble!

I just learned about this dinosaur, and I use the term loosely, that lived 10 million years before I was born. It is the Hagryphus Giganteus, which I believe roughly translates to “HAHAHAH! HAHAHAHAHAHAH! Look at the stupid-looking turkey! HAHAH!”

Can’t. Breathe. Laughing. So. Hard.


era: Prehistoric .

Don’t don’t don’t. Zzzzz.

Here in Pittsburgh they’re really gearing up for the G-20 summit, making sure the city looks its very very best for the leaders of the world when they come for a two-day visit in September.

Mayor Ravensthal stopped by to visit me the other day and boy, did he have a look on his face that was all business.

He stopped by to tell me that it’s important that Pittsburgh be clean and shiny for this event, as the “world … will … be … watching!”

At which point I interjected with “dum-dum-duh-duuuuuh!”

He wasn’t amused and he left me with a list of don’ts.

  • Don’t eat anything that isn’t dead, and that includes the trees. (Psst. Mayor? Me = T-Rex. Me = eat meat. Trees = plant = no blood = ptewie! Blech!)
  • Don’t moonwalk.
  • Don’t jaywalk.
  • Don’t walk.  Be a statue.  A good, non-alive statue. (Soooo ignoring this one.)
  • Don’t throw, kick, flick, or fling any human, animal, or vehicle into any of the three rivers for any reason whatsoever, I don’t care if the President of Mexico puts a sombrero on your head and force feeds you habanero peppers.   (That’s fine.  The side of a building is always a good substitute for the rivers when one is flinging humans. Also, President of Mexico, I like tequila. Just saying.)
  • Don’t yell, don’t swear, and don’t roar. (Crossing that one off, too.)
  • If you choose to yell, swear, or roar, brush your teeth first. (Offended.)
  • Don’t storm into the meetings and demand any rights for dinosaurs.  I will personally shoot you on sight.  (dum-dum-duh-duuuuuuh!)
  • Don’t leave entrails or carcass of any sort out in plain sight.
  • Don’t make anyone, and I mean ANYONE, pee their pants in fright.  (Phooey! Oh, wait. He didn’t say anything about number two. Woo!)

But seriously, I’ll be on my best behavior, Mayor.

And I’m not crossing my fingers behind my back or anything.




A certain dinosaur victory.

A reader sent me this gift, an autographed copy of Dinosaur vs. Bedtime.

As a fearsome monstrous killer death lizard, as the King of the Dinosaurs for over 65 million years, I know with 100% certainty who is going to win this battle.

I’m going to bed to read my book.

By choice.  By choice I am going to bed because bedtime is whenever I say it’s bedtime and I say it’s bedtime so you CAN STOP LOADING UP THE TRANQ GUN, YOU BLOODTHIRSTY WRANGLER.

I’ll let you know tomorrow how the book turns out and how much Bedtime begs for its life when the dinosaur reigns victorious and if they throw the dinosaur a victory parade.


era: Prehistoric . species:


There is a facebook application called … “What [redacted by Norm] career will you go into?”

I just KNOW Norm is going to clean that up, so let me help you … the word Norm deleted rhymes with fadbass or madsass or cadglass or hadgrass or in the great lost language of Pig Latin, which I once received an Octorate-Day in … adass-bay.

Get it? If you STILL don’t know what word was redacted, email me so that I can personally respond with an email to you in which I will detail all of the ways you are an idiot.

Moving on.

One of the adass-bay jobs you can end up with is this one:

Really?  First, the Dinosaur Throat-Puncher profession lasted all of one caveman who was soundly ripped limb from limb the second his knuckles made contact with the dinosaur’s throat.

And secondly, Stephen, PLEASE, come here and try to throat punch me.  Really. Try. Please?

I haven’t had a decent meal in like three hours.


era: Cenozoic,Prehistoric . species:

Vacaciones!! Muy divertida! Muchos nom noms!

The post you’ve been waiting for is finally here.

Shut your office door, put you phone on mute, tell your yappy girlfriend to shhh (not you, Sally.  I love it when you go on and on and on and on about God knows what. Love that.) and have a look at my best vacation pictures.

First up, I headed to my old stomping grounds, the play yard where my dino friends and I used to play with dominoes. Some of those dominoes are still standing today, so of course I wanted to get my picture taken there.


Let me tell you, they were NOT happy when I knocked a few of the dominoes over last week. Not happy at all.  Running after me all, “Bullocks! Chivvy along now, you bloody beast!”

Fighting off the angry throngs of silly humans, I worked up quite an appetite, so logically, I hit Ireland for some snacks.



If you think ribs are messy, you’d be flabbergasted at how messy a dino gets after a herd of sheep, so off I went to Iceland to take a bath in the Blue Lagoon:


Or, as it could be called now, The Reddish Blue Lagoon.

It’s a delightful color, really.

I spent the next few days visiting my old girlfriend.


Boy did she pick a bad plastic surgeon for her nose job. Yikes.

Sally was THRILLED with this picture. “What’d she do, get hit in the face by an asteroid?!”

I bid Sphinxie ado and headed over to China to have a look see at their supposedly giant wall.


What do you know, it’s a GIANT wall.

Couldn’t kick it down no matter how hard I tried.

Anyway, one frantic “I’M IN JAIL … IN CHINA!!” call to Norm later, I was free but hungry from the begging and crying, so that of course meant … snack:


Good ole’ China.

If you think sheep are bad, you ought to have seen me after I [redacted by Norm because of blood and gore].

By this time, it was almost time to head by home to AIP and I didn’t want to come home smelling like I just [exact same thing redacted again].

Shower time!


Dear Canadians. Don’t have giant showers if you don’t want giant animals showering entrails off in them. Gosh.

For all the freaking out you did, it’s not like I came to your country and feasted on your … what does Canada even have, eh? Other than delicious exotic French-Canadians.

Fresh and clean and worn out from my travels, I headed home to Norm who greeted me with open arms and the tranq gun powered down to 50%.

Perfect for a long nap.

Also, Norm, when the Chinese embassy calls about some cows, or the Spanish embassy about some bulls, or the French embassy about some sissy Frenchmen … I don’t know anything about that.


era: Cenozoic,Prehistoric . species: ,


As the King of Steeler Nation and the King of the Dinosaurs and the King of Awesome and the King of Pittsburgh, it is only fitting that I pay tribute to the King of Pop who is being buried today.

I would bust out a moonwalk, but the last time I did that I kinda crushed some cars that kinda had some people in them and who kinda sorta tried to sue AIP for 25 gabillionty dollars in damages.



era: Cenozoic,Prehistoric . species:

Various Curiosities

1. No posting yesterday because I was busy with Jake, finalizing plans for the super secret caper we’re going to pull off that has nothing to do with a certain 35 lb. cup-like trophy currently residing somewhere in Sewickley. Nothing at all.


2.  On twitter, I saw this from an adoring fan:

Well, you need only take a look at the movie poster and you’ll quickly see that this will be the greatest movie of this human generation and that it will win every single Oscar next year, even the foreign language film. It’s going to be that epic.

Woolly mammoth. Mmmm.  Plus, they come already equipped with after-meal toothpicks.

3. Are you jealous that Norm gets to hang out with a giant awesome dinosaur all the time? Do you wish you could get your own giant awesome dinosaur to wrangle and yell at and tranq?

Now, for the low low price of $48,000, you kind of can!

4.  Now, brace yourselves for some Math!

1 fearsome handsome dinosaur +

6 months +

20 hours of classes per week -

3 hours of necessary sleep per night +

1 time suctioning mentee

+ 35 tranqings


I’m spending next week visiting my friends all around the world.

First stop, Scotland to visit my best friend Lester.  Here we are swimming in the lake the last time I was able to get out for a visit:


Ah, I can already hear the relaxing sounds of nature and the horrified screams of the people.

Someone be sure to check in on Norm for me from time to time, okay? I’m sure he’s going to miss having me around for target practice.

See you in a week!


era: Prehistoric . species: , , , ,

Being all mentor-y and awesome.

Jake had never been to a baseball game before, so of course I insisted he and I attend a Pirates game as part of our Big Dinosaurs of America mentor/mentee time.

I have been a baseball fan since before your grandparents were born, as evidenced by this picture I fished out of my stuff (Hey, Norm, I messed up my stuff.  Clean it please?)


I know.  It is a great hat.

So, back to present day, I took Jake to the ballgame today to experience the ballpark, the atmosphere, the hot dogs, and of course, the pierogi race.

Here’s Jake devouring a Primanti’s sandwich, to which he said when he saw the size of it, “You’re joking right? Are there 600 more where this came from? I’m going to need something a little more elephant-ish in size.”


(Jake’s creator)

But then the pierogi race started, and well, as you can see, Jake saw the humongous pierogies running away from him and his hunter’s instinct kicked in, because not only is chasing prey a huge adrenaline rush, but how often does a dinosaur get to chase a fleeing giant pierogi of all things?  Almost never.

So, here’s Jake on the hunt, and there’s me watching from the stands.


Look how scared that pierogi is.  You should have heard it beg for its life as Jake neared.

I have never been so proud.

The manatee has become the mento.


era: Cenozoic,Prehistoric . species: , ,


Can I just tell you how good it felt to shave my playoff beard once I tracked down a machete sharp enough to cut through the thick macho mass?

Here I am looking clean-shaven and as you can see, very very smart.

funny pictures
Graduation is set for Friday and the keynote speaker is Mayor Fetterman from Braddock.  He’s going to give me a shout-out in his speech.  I just know it, because I’m getting my 477th college degree and I’ve already got the silly hat to prove it.

One of those 477 degrees was a Bachelor of Arts in Stupid B.C.  Yes, I once learned the language of the cave people, but I’ve lost most of it now.  All I can say in Stupid B.C. these days is “meeka shoooka poobin reeree kaka foo” which roughly translates to “I eat you now, stupidface.”



Rex’s (and Sally’s) Call

All this hockey insanity (I still have the Mojo Octopus in my jaws. It has been bolted and booby-trapped and possibly wired with explosive dino poop, so again, step off) means that I haven’t checked in with Cat and her jaunty hat lately to give you advice from a dinosaur’s perspective.

Let’s see what delicious nuggets of wisdom she wrote this week:

DEAR CAT: Last year at this time I was diagnosed with cancer and began months of chemotherapy. I am happy to say I beat it and am now cancer-free! My question to you is: Am I damaged goods, so to speak, when it comes to women and dating now? I am a single, straight, never-been-married, educated thirtysomething male. I’m pretty average-looking and in decent shape. I have a great family and wonderful friends. Why am I still single? I have always been a “friend” to girls, not a “boyfriend,” and I don’t know why. Since I’ve had limited success in the past with women, it seems that being a cancer survivor is a strike against me. I appreciate your thoughts. — DAMAGED GOODS?

REX’S CALL: I’m a guy. A giant, handsome, muscular guy, so I didn’t think I could offer advice to you about this, so I asked my girlfriend Sally to give you advice.  She said:

SALLY’S CALL: Mmmmmmmrawr. Cancer survivors are hot. Don’t tell Rex.

Uh, Sally, I’M RIGHT HERE! God.

Anyway, sir, you’re not damaged goods. Go find yourself a girl, grab her by the shoulders, show her a scar and say, “Yo. I beat cancer. Kiss me.”

How do you think I landed Sally? I grabbed her and said, “Yo. I beat the extinction. Kiss me.”